Years Too Late
by myxomatosis
Summary: Luke gets a glimpse into the darker side of Jess and Liz's relationship.


I can't say I was upset about Liz moving back to New York. Getting the two of them out of Star's Hollow and out of my hair was going to improve my life immensely. The reason for it wasn't pleasant, but not unexpected. If any of Liz's relationships lasted for more than two years I would die of shock.

I went over to her house to comfort her after closing up the diner. I knocked on the door and Jess answered.

"Where'd you come from?" I asked walking in.

"Philly," he said rather simply, "Liz left."

"Where?" I was a little confused.

Jess just shrugged. The kettle on the stove started whistling and he picked it up.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Sure."

We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. I sat down on the couch and played solitaire. Jess was washing dishes.

"Are you actually cleaning up without being asked to?"

"I'm preventing a biohazard," he said, "You can go home you know."

"I figured I should help Liz out."

"I'm used to it," he sighed, "I know what to expect from a Liz meltdown."

I was about to protest that I'd known her longer, when Liz fell through the door. She was staggering and she reeked of booze. She made her way over to Jess who shoved a glass full of water in her face.

"Drink this."

"Don't you tell me what to do!" she shouted back.

Liz smacked Jess' right hand. The sound of the slap reverberated through the room and was followed by the sound of the glass shattering on the floor.

"Clean that up, stupid," Liz was getting right in Jess' face and pointing down at the broken glass. Jess calmly started picking up the pieces. I thought he would fly into a rage at any moment, but he was so passive. I'd never seen him take that kind of abuse.

"Liz, go to bed."

"No," Liz kicked Jess over, "You aren't smarter than me. You have no right."

Jess sat himself back up and threw the broken glass away. He walked back up to Liz.

"I'm just trying to take care of you."

Liz slapped him across the face. Jess just stared back at her. I couldn't figure out why he was taking this from her. I would have expected him to get angry, to scream, or fight, or run away. That's when I realized that he was used to it. The look on his face as she slapped him, it wasn't the least bit surprised or angry, it was just sad. Jess had resigned himself to this position as Liz's personal punching bag which made me wonder how long he had been in it.

Liz was shouting at him. I never expected to hear her hurl insults like that at Jess. I was even more surprised that he did nothing.

"I know you are upset, Liz," he said grabbing her arms, "It's probably best that you try to sleep this off, okay."

"He's a bastard," she slurred stepping away from Jess and turning to look at me, "All you men are bastards. I can't rely on any of you."

She stepped toward Jess and shoke her fist at him. "You two . . . too! You always got to act all superior to me. Well I got news for you, you ain't better than me. Hell Jess, you're worse. You're the most worthless piece of shit in the world."

Jess started backing towards the bedroom. Liz cut him off and punched him in the face.

"Don't you try to trick me," she screamed, "I'm not finished. Maybe if you two would show him some respect he'd come back. I want him to come back."

Liz collapsed into Jess' arms.

"Shhhh," he whispered, "It'll be okay. Let's put you in bed."

Jess slowly walked his mother to her bedroom. I hit myself. Why didn't I step in and take some of the blows? I was in shock. I had no idea what to do or say. I kept flashing back to times when I'd seen Liz and Jess before. I tried to remember whether or not I saw bruises on him. I'd never really paid attention.

Jess walked back into the kitchen and wiped the blood from his lip. He sat down across from me.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said.

"Jess," I looked at him, hoping that he would answer me, "How often does this happen."

"What?"

"How often does Liz," It hurt to say it, to admit that it was true, "hit you?"

"Not often," he responded. Jess had a distant look on his face. He wouldn't look at me.

"How often is not often?"

"I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"If it doesn't really matter to me anymore why should it matter to you," he pulled

out a cigarrette and lit it.

"When did you stop caring?"

He took a long drag from the cigarette. He blew the smoke out slowly and said, "Fourteen, maybe Fifteen."

"When did it start?"

Jess just shrugged. I wanted answers and I was going to get them. I stared him down and he shifted in his seat.

"I don't know," he rested his head on the table and drew his fingers through his hair, "She always stops if I cry. I just don't cry anymore so her tantrums last longer."

I felt horrible. My insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart. My little nephew had been going through this his whole life and I hadn't stopped it. I must have looked like I was feeling guilty.

"It's not your fault. It was never very bad either, " Jess took another drag looked up at the ceiling before blowing the smoke out through his mouth.

His indifference wasn't making me feel better. The tips of my fingers had built up callouses that protected them from the pain of burning hot plates but that also numbed them to the softness of Lorelai's skin. Jess was like my fingers. Years of being hurt by one who he loved had left him numb to pain and incapable of feeling love. I realized then that I was years too late.


End file.
